


stillness and darkness (before time began)

by crateofkate



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24940885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crateofkate/pseuds/crateofkate
Summary: All around him, black black black. His memories of before, before the icy grip of nothing surrounded him on every side, are vague and without context. Yellow eyes, strings vibrating under fingertips, cold wind biting at his nose.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 112
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #002





	stillness and darkness (before time began)

_Darkness._

All around him, black black _black_. His memories of _before_ , before the icy grip of nothing surrounded him on every side, are vague and without context. Yellow eyes, strings vibrating under fingertips, cold wind biting at his nose. 

He tries to scream but that too, was absorbed into the endless void around him. He had a name once, he thinks, a life. A lover? Perhaps.

Days or decades inside the pit, it hardly mattered. Time no longer had any meaning. He tried to move every few minutes(years) but there was nowhere to go. How could one move without a body? He felt like a marionette with severed strings, left to lay in a heap at the bottom of his own consciousness. 

His hands, he thinks, are bound. Bound with rope made of secrets. How had he come to be in this place of nothing?

_Jaskier_ , a voice, whispered on a breeze, a voice that seemed to be coming from every direction at once.

Jaskier? Familiar. A long forgotten lullaby.

_Jaskier, you’re safe. I found you, I’m getting you out._

_Hold on._

Hold onto what? There was nothing nothing nothing. He reached upwards, fingers grasping at the darkness and-

A light.

No, not a light.

A daisy. An object. An _idea._

A fragile stem, growing from his palms, stretching upwards towards.

Towards.

_Geralt_.

* * *

  
  


“-longer is he going to sleep for?” was the first thing Jaskier heard. It felt like he was trying to swim through syrup, thick and cloying, struggling to reach the surface and take a breath. 

“A healing sleep takes time, little one. He’ll wake when he’s ready.” This voice, this voice he knew. Purple eyes, barbed words. _Yennefer._

Jaskier couldn’t have stopped the groan if he tried. “What fresh hell is this then, that I should die only to come back and have to suffer the screech of your dulcet tones?”

With effort, he pried one eye open, then the other, and the room he was in came into a hazy focus. Yennefer was seated at the end of the bed, grasping the hands of a familiar towheaded child. 

“Well then, I suppose that answers that question,” Yennefer said, rolling her eyes in his direction. She refocused her attention on the child. “Best fetch Geralt then, cub. He’ll want to know his barker is back amongst the living. Off with you, post haste.” She shooed the girl out the door and closed it softly behind her, and then turned back to Jaskier himself.

“Where am I?” he coughed, voice hoarse from disuse. Or perhaps overuse? Either way, it felt like a cat had reached inside his throat and clawed at it like a pair of expensive drapes. 

“Safe, now. You’re in my guest room. You caused quite the stir when you arrived, I’ll have you know. Half dead in Geralt’s arms, a trembling princess at his heels. Honestly Jaskier, we must stop meeting like this. That’s two you owe me now.” Her harsh words directly contradicted the look of worry on her face as she passed him a wooden cup of cool water. “How are you feeling now? Quickly, before the worry-wolf returns from his chores.”

Jaskier took a moment to assess himself. “Head hurts, like it’s been stuffed with linen. My- feet? Was I walking? Did I fall into a ravine again?”

Yennefer came to sit at his bedside, running her fingers lightly over his forehead, his hands, his chest. “You don’t remember?”

“The last thing I recall is a tavern in Dorian, and a crowd who wouldn’t know a decent ballad if it crawled up their arses and died there,” he grunted, pushing at the bed in an attempt to sit himself up. “Clearly I had an adventure of some sort though. I must have been deep into my cups, I haven’t blacked out like this since my days at the academy.”

Yennefer reached forward and gently helped pull him into a sitting position. “Jaskier. You spent a month in a Nilfgaard prison camp being tortured. No cups involved.”

Jaskier froze with his hands half way to his legs, having intended to rub some feeling back into them. “Excuse - come again?”

Yennefer continued her check of his person, hands glowing a soft blue as she passed them over various parts of his body. She did not look him in the eye. “The girl, Cirilla. Geralt’s child surprise. He managed to spirit her away from the Nilfgaardian army, and they wanted her back. Who best to find the elusive White Wolf then the man who made him famous? They caught up with you in Dorian, brought you to their moving barracks, and set about finding out what you knew.”

Breathing. He couldn't remember how, suddenly. Panic bubbled up from his stomach, into his lungs, blocking them from taking in air. A hand, suddenly, grasping at his own, squeezing.

“Jaskier. _Jaskier_. It’s over, you’re out. Count with me. One, two, three. In through your nose, that’s it,” he caught her eyes and managed a shallow inhale. The violet color was grounding, somehow, and he wondered if she was casting a spell on him. “Out, three, two, one. Again.”

This Yennefer was strange and unknown to him, he was able to think distantly as her words flowed through him, compelling him to obey. She had compassion, a sense of sympathy about her. Perhaps this was a Yennefer he could grow to tolerate.

Slowly, he managed to catch his breath, his breathing returning to normal and his heart rate slowing back to something a bit more manageable. She stood up once more to fetch him another cup of water, which he sipped slowly as he cast his thoughts backwards.

“I don’t - When I try to think about it, it just slips away. Did I - What did I tell them?” He looked up, dread funneling through him like a toxin. “Is Geralt alright?”

She stared at him for a moment before heaving a sigh. “The two of you, I swear. Yes, Geralt is fine. You didn’t tell them anything, bard.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because if you had, you’d be dead already. They wouldn’t have been keeping you alive if you’d outlived your usefulness.” Yennefer leaned down and swept her hands over the length of her dress. “When Geralt found you, they were still actively working on trying to make you speak. A wonder, considering I’ve never known you to shut up.” She wandered over to a shelf that held several glass bottles, and selected one that was a vibrant, sickly yellow. “Drink this, every drop.”

She unstoppered the cork from the bottle and tipped it against his lips. “You’ll sleep again for a short time, but this ought to bring you back a bit more clear headed. You’ll be able to eat when you wake. Settle back now, the sleep will come on slowly.”

Jaskier leaned into the mound of pillows, licking his palate as he tried to banish the bitter taste from his mouth. From beyond the door he could hear the pounding of familiar boots, and tried not to let the sound get his hopes up.

The door burst open, slamming against the wall behind it. “Yenn, Ciri said Jaskier-” And there he was, in all his beautiful glory, the Crusher of Hearts and Killer of Dreams, Geralt of Rivia himself. They locked eyes, blue to gold, and Jaskier watched as Geralt took him in. “You’re awake.”

“Yes. Hi, um. Hello,” Jaskier stuttered and immediately wanted to smother himself in the pillows propping him up. 

Yennefer rolled her eyes upwards as if sending a prayer to an invisible deity. “I’ve just given him another dose of the healing draught. He’ll fall asleep again shortly, do try not to knock down my home in a panicked frenzy if he drifts off mid sentence.” She stood from the bed and made her way to the door, but stopped just before she stepped through, looking back at Jaskier. “I’m glad you’re not dead, bard.”

Jaskier blinked and, for unknown reasons, lifted his fingers and gave her a little wave and a tight smile. She disappeared into the hallway, shutting the door behind her.

“Did she get hit in the head? She’s never been nice to me before, and I don’t think I like it,” Jaskier says, bringing his hands down to twist in the bedcovers. 

“She's been worried. We all have.” Geralt walked over and took Yennefer’s place at his bedside. He folded his hands in his lap and looked over out the window. “I didn’t think you were going to make it when I found you.”

Jaskier let out a puff of air and looked awkwardly to the side. “Well, I live to defy the expectations of others. Good to know I’m still able to accomplish this, even half dead.” He starts when he feels fingers lightly touch the back of his hand, and looks down to see Geralt’s palm covering his own. “I’m alright, Geralt, truly. No worse for the wear, I promise.”

Geralt doesn’t look at him, instead keeping his gaze on the place where their hands touch. For a long minute, neither of them speak. Finally, the Witcher looks upwards, a glint of determination in his eye. “They went after you because of me. Because they knew you were my-”

“Pest? Annoyance? Shit shoveler?”

“- _friend._ ”

For the first time ever, Jaskier finds himself without words.

“Twenty years, and you’ve never said that to me before.”

“I’m saying it now. Jaskier, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t come into your life, and-” Geralt cuts himself off with a heavy swallow. Jaskier sighs and brings his free hand up to rub at his eyes.

“You stop that right now, Geralt of Rivia. I may still be furious at you, but if the last year has taught me anything, it’s that my life is infinitely better with you in it.” On impulse, he raises their joined hands and lays a kiss on Geralt’s wrist. “You ought to know I’m in love with you, and have been since the day we met. I might not remember being tortured, but I know if I don’t tell you now and something happens to me tomorrow, even dead, I’d never forgive myself.”

Geralt, for his part, looks as wrecked as Jaskier feels. His eyes grow heavier with each passing second and he’s suddenly unable to stifle a yawn. 

“Yennefer’s potion is taking hold, I’m afraid. We’ll have to table the rest of this conversation for later.” He settles back in the pillows, taking Geralt’s hand with him. “You’ll make it up to me, of course.”

“Everyday until my last,” Geralt says quietly, and the last thing Jaskier feels is the brush of lips over his forehead. “Sleep now, bard. I’ll be here when you wake up.”


End file.
